He turned abruptly to the desk and took up Ten Spot’s weapon, holding it by the muzzle and presenting it to the latter. Ten Spot looked from the weapon to Hollis and back again to the weapon, blank amazement pictured on his face. Then he reached out mechanically, taking the weapon and holding it in his hands, turning it over and over as though half inclined to believe that it was not a revolver at all.
“Chuck full of cattridges, too!” he exclaimed in amazement, as he examined the chambers.
“Why, hell—” He crouched and deftly swung the six-shooter around, the butt in his hand, his finger resting on the trigger. In this position he looked at Hollis.
The latter had not moved, but his own weapon was in his right hand, its muzzle covering Ten Spot, and when the latter swung his weapon up Hollis smiled grimly at him.
“Using it?” he questioned.
For an instant it seemed that Ten Spot would. An exultant, designing expression came into his eyes, he grinned, his teeth showing tigerishly. Then suddenly he snapped himself erect and with a single, dexterous movement holstered the weapon. Then his right hand came suddenly out toward Hollis.
“Shake!” he said. “By —, you’re white!”
Hollis smiled as he returned the hearty handclasp.
“You’re cert’nly plum grit,” assured Ten Spot as he released Hollis’s hand and stepped back the better to look at the latter. “But I reckon you’re some damn fool too. How did you know that I wouldn’t turn you into a colander when you give me back my gun?”
“I didn’t know,” smiled Hollis. “I just took a chance. You see,” he added, “it was this way. I never intended to shoot you. That sort of thing isn’t in my line and I don’t intend to shoot anyone if there is any way out of it. But I certainly wasn’t going to allow you to shoot me.” He smiled oddly. “So I watched my chance and slugged you. Then when I was certain that you weren’t dangerous any more I had to face another problem. If I had turned you loose after taking your gun what would you have done?”